


connections (filtered through the lo-fi)

by helloshepard



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers (Bumblebee Movie), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Allusions to Robot Sex, Bumblebee Movie Spoilers, F/M, First Kiss, Hardlining, Humans Are Weird, Protectiveness, Spoilers, Wild Misinterpretations of Human Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: Bumblebee movie SPOILERS. Shatter doesn’t look at the balcony, but Dropkick does. She watches the humans through his optics, mumbling and plotting like the clueless,arrogantorganics they are. It had taken four Earth cycles for these military-sparked humans to locate them. A little mayhem went a long way, but the fleshlings were soslow.Four Earth cycles to find Shatter and Dropkick. Less than half a cycle to decide to kill them.She’s almost impressed at their capacity for betrayal. She had been half expecting the things to getattached.





	connections (filtered through the lo-fi)

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR spoilers for the Bumblebee movie. 
> 
> Initially I'd planned this to be a little more sensual, but it's three am and I'm tired, so it got a little silly instead.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

“Shatter.”

They’re hardlined, connected by primitive cables and wires. The humans are marveling at the basic data collation and extraction as their sensors work in conjunction with the satellites to detect their quarry. Dropkick sees what Shatter sees, and Shatter sees what Dropkick sees, and there’s not much room for anything else.

This is a ghost of the real thing—the hint of Shatter’s mind brushing against his own is _not enough_. The distance between them is almost frightening, leagues away from the tidal wave of sensation that comes with connecting via their own data cables.

Shatter doesn’t look up from her screen.

“What.”

“They know we can hear ‘em, right?”

Shatter doesn’t look at the balcony, but Dropkick does. She watches the humans through his optics, mumbling and plotting like the clueless, _arrogant_ organics they are. It had taken four Earth cycles for these military-sparked humans to locate them. A little mayhem went a long way, but the fleshlings were so _slow._ Four Earth cycles to find Shatter and Dropkick. Less than half a cycle to decide to kill them.

She’s almost impressed at their capacity for betrayal. She had been half expecting the things to get _attached._

The fleshling’s informational videos suggested the fleshlings had a frightening propensity to bond. Shatter had watched three while they waited for the human military to catch up—alone, because Dropkick always slipped into recharge before the video’s title was revealed. Two outlined responses to alien invasion—inadequate responses primarily consisting of screaming and fire.

The third film displayed fleshling courting behavior: presenting dead flora and cooked organic flesh before mashing intakes in a pre-mating ritual.

Shatter had woken Dropkick to attempt the latter behavior. It went about as well as expected.  

An alert pings Dropkick’s HUD. A faint trace of Energon, but it’s too far east, practically on the other side of the landmass. Possibly an undercover agent. Most likely a false reading. He disregards it.

They don’t _technically_ need to be standing here, typing at the data terminals. Their lower runtimes are more than capable of seeking out fluctuations, and it’s a simple matter of checking the results.

But for all the games Shatter’s playing with them, she doesn’t want to speak to the humans any more than she has to.

Dropkick can’t really blame her. The fleshy, wet noises they make with equally fleshy, wet mouths are _disgusting._ He’s already considered recording their horrific chewing sounds and beaming it via longform transmission to Cybertron. It’ll take a thousand Earth cycles to get there, but Dropkick is ninety percent sure the noise will have Soundwave to _finally_ losing his cool and get him fifty shanix from Barricade.

Ideally, he’ll be back on Cybertron to see it.

Dropkick types in another meaningless string of characters. He’s sure the fleshlings are directing their silly recording devices to capture the nonsense he’s typing.

“Don’t annoy Soundwave.”

He hadn’t thought the connection was strong enough to sustain much more than their input feeds.

Evidently he was wrong.

“He annoys _me.”_ Dropkick considers the holographic keyboard and types in a string of Cybertronian epithets. “Fair’s fair.”

Shatter releases a targeted electromagnetic pulse.

His keyboard sizzles and the electricity jumps to his hand. Dropkick jerks back as the current shoots from his fingers to his chest.

_“Ow.”_

Shatter pretends to study her terminal, but Dropkick can see a smirk tugging at the edge of her faceplates.

The humans are still chattering and scheming. Dropkick directs his attention to Shatter, letting his audio feed sync and bleed into hers.

_“—t the smaller one first.”_

“‘m flattered,” Dropkick mutters, trying and failing to ignore the protective _rage_ that punches through the primitive connection and leaves him staggering. It disconnects their audio-visual feed, and for a second Dropkick flounders, entirely alone in his mind. “I’m obviously the bigger threat.”

“It would be the last mistake these creatures make.”

“Why?” Dropkick prods one of the humans scuttling around their feet. It stumbles back, fleshy optics wide with fear. “Cause they’re talking about taking me out or cause you’re more dangerous than me?”

Red optics flash and Shatter smiles. It’s decidedly _not_ a ‘peacekeeping’ smile. Too many teeth, for one.

Dropkick’s spark skips a beat or three. The burst of rage is slowly subsiding, making way for the reconnection of their feeds.

“Can’t it be both?”

“I suppose.”

Shatter moves away from the data terminal, closing the distance between them in two steps.

His optical feed abruptly reconnects with Shatter’s, and he’s looking at her, but also at himself, and then they’re looking at each other. Then there’s a microsecond of an infinity of Shatters and Dropkicks before their feeds sync and Dropkick can once again discern who’s standing where.

The Powell human is staring at them.

Shatter is the one thing keeping him from whipping out his gun to pop the vermin. His wide-eyed, faux-innocent gaze makes Dropkick’s plating crawl. At least _Decepticon_ scientists don’t bother with pretense.

It’s an unlikely scenario, but not impossible—him, separated from Shatter. Injured, at the mercy of the fleshlings.

 _“_ Dropkick _.”_   

He makes a vague noise of affirmation—a habit picked up from the fleshlings, Dropkick realizes, and that _really_ annoys him.

With a quiet _click,_ the hardline reconnects their synced feeds, and Dropkick relaxes again. Out of the corner of Shatter’s gaze, the human he’d prodded earlier is examining its torso for injury.

_“Dropkick.”_

“What!”

It’s barely above a whisper—the humans are too eager to listen in, so he switches to Cybertronian.

_“What.”_

“I told you,” Her words are layered with glyphs, with meaning Earth’s simplistic, phonetic, _verbal_ language could never hope to emulate. “That would be the last mistake these creatures make.”

Dropkick sends a packet of glyphs her way. She takes her time examining his response, long enough that he’s gotten comfortable with the silence between them. Dropkick’s keyboard resets. He resumes the human’s education of Cybertronian anatomy.

“Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” Dropkick directs their optical feed back up to Powell. “It’s them I don’t trust.”

“Understandable,” Shatter admits. “They are rather...mercenary.”

“Like miniature, squishable Starscreams.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated :)


End file.
